A Sith Warrior's Reflection
by EverSteam
Summary: The thoughts of Sith Warrior at the end of Chapter three on their companions. Not much else to say on that. Just a quick one-shot. Please read and feel free to review.


**A Sith Warrior's Reflection**

_A Sith feeds upon hate and anger. _

_The purest passions._

I have gathered these creatures to me for the few beneficial skills they lend to me. For the intoxicating loathing I have for them. I despise them. Their abundant faults and weaknesses sicken and repulse me. Their petty problems riddled with their own failures and immense infirmities. It fuels a rampant fury inside my core and amplifies my power. The coal to the burning, black furnace of my soul.

_The pathetic droid smells of fear and oil._

I am convinced Baras placed him on my ship hoping that it would drive me to insanity.

The ship constantly reeks of fresh paint. Every time I leave the ship, I return to wet walls. The smell is nauseating. The colour is hideous. I sleep in the cockpit. The smell is lessened and I cannot stand to leave in case the droid begins its grovelling.

When in battle, I imagine it is the droid. I tear flesh from my enemies picturing the painting, snivelling, incompetent droid. I hate him. And it is on these passions the mighty Sith Empire has forever been built.

_The slave was the first to join me._

She had no talent or splendour to recommend herself as dancer. Her capability with a blaster provided as a usefulness to the pirates she served. And now me. She was rather competent at demolitions and slicing. Adequate. Nothing exceptional.

Her cocky talk spoken with the whingeing voice of child who plays the role of an adult blisters my core with loathing. Her pathetic needs for ties to others and family connections are spiteful. Such dismal debility. Her failure to strike against those who torture her own blood feeds my blackened soul with rage. Such unforgivable weaknesses.

Her pathetic nagging to be free from the suffering of the collar revolted me. The freedom she craves is beyond her potential and her species. Such a pathetic race. Hardly more than carnal toys. So impure. Removing a collar would never make her free. She would be forever chained to others. How can she wonder why her life and those of her feeble blooded relatives is punctured with slavery and objectification? It's not fates cruel roll of the dice. They are so inferior. So _weak._

The weak are slaves ruled by the strong and pure.

_The Captain was the second to pledge allegiance._

He is a prisoner aboard the Furry.

Of all the impurity that harbours on my ship, he was the most valuable. I allow myself to admit that he impressed me. His capabilities and intelligence surpassed many I had ever met, even amongst Sith. He was a loyal servant to the Empire. An almost worthy rival.

It is he who excites me most. His effect upon me is confusing. He drove me to further wild limits. He stimulates the burning fires of my power and lights my blackened soul. I feel more alive around him. Heightened senses. The Force more willing and complying. My prey fall swifter under stronger limbs.

His betrayal infuriates me. It stung me, my insides blistering, this agony from within breaking through my skin. I predicted the event, but not my own feelings. I was wounded. My feelings had deceived me. For a moment, I was weakened by this. Raked with physical pain that grew from my chest like a poisoned plant; it spread through my body before breaking out of my skin. But my love yearns his suffer.

The blood of the ancients courses through me, but this man made me more powerful than centuries of heated blood. His death would empty me. I recognised I needed him. My loathing for him and my weakness for him fuelled my passion, raised my strength. Forcing him to stay by my side was a just revenge for the misery of my heart.

His petty past with Moff Broysc was a repeated tale that showed a scorned child and scalded pride. His constant whining of past failures. Justifying his hate. Impersonalizing the reason for Broysc's necessary destruction. It was never for the Empire. It was to satisfy a whining child, thrown to the naughty corner of Blamorra for misbehaving. It was a small prank to the teacher that humiliated him. His inability to swiftly carry out Brosyc's death once Balmorra was behind him, paraded uncertainty and a failed conviction. Unforgivable weaknesses.

A man who lacks conviction dies by his own impediment.

_The fallen apprentice was the third to bend to my will._

Such pretending.

No comprehension of the might of the dark side or the meaning of the Sith. As weak an ignorant as she was when a Jedi. No, a_ padawan_. Her 'powers' are nothing. What true Sith cannot do the same?

Her belief that I will allow her to live long enough to see my rise to the throne of the Emperor is deluded and naive. She exaggerates her worth. Spoilt by the Jedi who saw her as great when only compared to their low standards.

She is a fraud. A pretender. There is no purity in her line. She comes from a family of slaves. A slave forever. To call her Sith angers me. Such ignorance and foolishness. Her constant prattle of increasing power is empty. Constantly speaking of herself, hoping that someone will believe once again in her importance. Real power cannot be placed into words. It is an unspoken ambience. So ignorant. She will forever be nothing. Born as nothing, and growing into nothing.

She will always be at the mercy of my whims. She will never be powerful. She is impure and insignificant. She is not my apprentice. My loathing for her powers me. She is one of six batteries that retain my smouldering core.

Ignorance is a cage one rarely escapes.

_The conceited Lieutenant was the fourth to follow my orders._

He lives in the past.

When he was strong and fit. When he was someone making the tiniest difference. One termite among many, eating at the wooden strength of the Republic. So like Quinn. The past locking them. It's part of why he hates him. Because Quinn is everything he hates in others. And himself.

His comparison to the pathetic snivelling killiks in the army to the grand Sith is pathetic. His refusal to lie down and prostrate himself at my feet as the insignificant human he is is pathetic. Our mighty Sith order rules with power. The army is but a means to an end. Caught in cross fire and constant collateral damage. He earns no respect for such a past.

His group are a shambles. Only his ego stops him seeing their uncoordinated incompetency's. He is blinded to his own faults as well. His strong build is misleading. His health is weak. He is past his prime and sometimes, I consider dropping him off to rot on Balmorra or Hoth. But I enjoy the constant reminder of the weakness in age and time.

Misplaced egotism is a terminal fault.

_The monster was the last of all to follow my command. _

He is a worthy and useful slave.

His lust for blood is an echo of a Sith's heart. He is my favourite pet. Because of this, I allow his delusions of the pitiful beings brought into this ship being called a 'clan'. He honours me well and correctly. He recognises strengths and weaknesses well. I feel his disdain for the other life forms on board the ship. The cargo hold has become his sanctuary.

Of all my 'companions', he might actually survive long enough to see my rise to the seat of the Emperor.

_I am the Emperor's Wrath in title only. My Fury is my own._

I can't control the hate I've learned. It fills my history with bloodied corpses. Generations have walked it in my past. I will rise above them. I am pure. These things will forever fuel my core. Killing slow is the way I conquer. When I rule, I will pass down a righteous law. It will serve a craving and justice deep in me*. This heated blood burns my soul. It ignites a hunger. A craving from deep within. It's within my soul and within my skin.*

Victory and destruction is my future.

_My nature._

* Quotes from Devil May Cry theme - Taste the Blood (I do not own them and have not claimed the specified lines as my own.)


End file.
